Riku's PoV
Sora was missing his afternoon classes. I know, because I watched him leave. My forced calm didn't last long. My first sight of Sora sent a fierce spike of hurt through me, even through my fog of calm. It was all downhill from there. Everything reminded me of Sora. Pretty soon, I just gave in and remembered, and thought. Thought about how I could fix it. By fourth hour, I had a headache the size of Texas, and an ache in my heart that made it look tiny. I was fighting hard to keep from crying, and the sight of Sora didn't help. Then Kairi came over. Something of my pain must have shown on my face, as the first words out of her mouth were,
"Are you all right?" I managed to dredge up a smile. It wasn't a very good one, and I can only guess it looked as bad as it felt.
"Rotten headache." I replied, tersely. She looked gratifyingly worried, and began digging through her purse for something. Finally, she pulled out a small plastic bottle. Kairi handed it to me.
"Here. Headache medicine. I always carry it." I gave her a look I could only hope conveyed my gratitude. I guess it did, because she smiled. I couldn't help smiling back as I gulped down two pills dry and returned the bottle. Even if she was just trying to get to Sora, Kairi was a genuinely nice girl. Sora… my smile melted like ice in the July sun.
"You sure you're all right?" Kairi asked. "I haven't seen you this upset in a long time." I started slightly.
"How long have you been watching me?" She blushed, bringing the ghost of a smile to my lips. She was cute when she did that.
"Ummm… You are one of the hottest guys in school." Kairi choked out. She was doing a great imitation of a tomato by now. Her words caught me completely flat-footed. Blink blink. Me. One of the hottest guys in school. I burst out laughing. Kari's blush was beginning to fade, and she glared at me with equal parts frustration and amusement. Finally I stopped laughing.
"Really." Kairi declared, as though that should finish any argument.
"Then why are you always asking about Sora?" I winced as my voice cracked on his name.
"You seemed to need to talk about him." I sighed.
"I did." I hadn't meant to put the slight emphasis on 'did', but I heard it clearly when I spoke. Kairi looked at me hard.
"You two got in a fight, didn't you?" The sympathy and real concern in her voice soothed any trace of accusation. I only nodded in response; my voice just didn't seem up to the task. She made no response, and I went back to what I was doing, (seeing how many pieces I could break my pencil into) and class ended without any real trouble. I slipped out as soon as the bell rang. When Sora came out, I followed him a good bit behind to the drainpipe roof access. Sometime between my conversation with Kairi, and the bell, I had reached a decision. I had to try and patch this up. Even my false calm trick wasn't working; I was near tears, and a bit angry, though I wasn't sure at whom. I scrambled up the drainpipe, and peaked over the roof, carefully. Sora was looking at me, with the most terrible look on his face. His expression was calm, a frozen mask, serene in the same way death is. His eyes burned impossibly blue with what I was sure was anger. All hope in me of reconciliation died.
I dropped off the drainpipe and walked over to the tree by the back gate. It had nice thick leaves, thick enough that no one on the ground could see me unless they were specifically looking. Then I let the tears fall. He hated me! For not trusting him. He was right to hate me. I hated myself just now. I wasn't good for anything but sitting around and looking pretty and I wasn't even very good at that. There was no way someone like Sora would waste his time on a jerk like me. I must have misinterpreted something. He didn't want me; he just wanted a model or something. I must disgust him, a paranoid sonofabitch with no virtues and a great wealth of vices. I wept, wept at how pathetic I was, how stupid for ever believing someone could want me that way. I cried soundlessly; I didn't dare be heard.
Footsteps sounded in the packed earth below, and I looked down to see Sora, headed out the back gate in quick, angry strides. Anger and something not quite sane made his face a mask. I almost laughed at that. Who was I to be a judge of sanity? When he was out of sight, I jumped, dropping out of the tree. I couldn't deal with the rest of school today. I needed my secret place, my delirious lack of emotion, delicious oblivion in blood on fine white sand. I ran. Hard and fast, feet pounding the wet sand, hair whipping around my face. Running. Trying to catch the horizon, trying to outrun myself. I reached the cave and entered. Quickly, I unpacked the silver knife. The smell of jasmine still lingered, like a ghost of bitter memories.
I drew the blade lightly across my wrist. Blood. Red on white, roses and ivory. A sharp, coppery smell and crimson drops splashing into sand like pale snow. Ice. Frozen, unfeeling, lost. I cut again, deeper. Pain. A physical anchor, a tie against drowning in my own, mixed-up feelings. The coldness began to seep through my heart. Peace. My thoughts were very slow, drifting, not really touching me. There was a lot of blood on the sand. I should bandage the cuts. I nodded, agreeing with myself. A roll of gauze came from the box. My motions were as slow as my mind, as though I moved through thick honey. The thought occurred that the deeper slash might need stitching—I pushed it away. Of course not. I rinsed the cuts with fresh water, and wrapped gauze around them. I slid a black sweatband over the bandage to hide it. Then the knife was in my hand. There was blood on the blade. I tilted it back and forth, admiring the play of light. I would have to be careful. If mother noticed the cuts, they might send me away again… I didn't dare be sent away. I had to repay Sora. Do something to make up for my arrogance. Then the rest would be at Lady Luck's whim. I rose and walked over to a small pool near the cave's entrance. You would expect it to be salt, so near the sea, but this was fresh water, pure enough to drink. I wet a rag and began to clean the blade, wiping the blood off my hand and arm at the same time. My thoughts were slowly approaching normal speed, but I still felt as though there were a thick pane of glass between me and the world. My limbs felt heavy, but my head was light, empty. U sheathed the blade and returned it to the crate. I walked home slowly, the long way on the beach, and arrived about when I would normally get home from school. I went upstairs, headed towards the bed… I don't remember lying down.
Sora's PoV
Alex and I returned to base an hour later, covered in sweat and dirt, and speckled with blood, glass, and paint. Trevor had had a fairly nice setup in the old church; an opium lab, filled with glassware, had taken up nearly half of one of the old basement rooms. Alex and I had taken out two guards—which was unusual, on a school day—then proceeded to cause as much damage as possible. If there was a whole beaker in the church anywhere, I would be surprised. Then Alex had left Trevor a calling card; a painting, on the table, of an angel with Alex's face. The angel was making a very rude gesture. I flopped down on the blue couch with a sigh, trying not to remember cuddling with Riku there.
"That felt good. I needed to hit something." Alex's words were a pleasant distraction.
"Yeah. It helps." I was content to leave it at that. I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting off. I had not slept well the night before. Footsteps on the stairs jolted me full awake. Too light to be anyone but Yuffie, and she would be at school. A moment later a girl stepped into the room. She was pretty much my height, with shoulder length black hair and brown eyes set in a heart-shaped face. She wore a leather skirt slit to the hip down the sides and a tight black leather bodice. I watched Alex's jaw drop with no little amusement. She was quite pretty, with very fair skin and a spark of life in her eyes that showed her a tad more than she seemed at first glance. Since Alex seemed temporarily speech deprived, I ran through the routine.
"State your name, rank, and serial number. Oh, and if you're selling bibles or nerve tonic, prepare to be drowned in a vat of lime Jell-O." I thought I caught a flicker of a smile before she repressed it firmly, and humor glinted in her eyes despite her solemn voice.
"Tifa Lockhart. Ex-med-school student. No number. And I'm an atheist." She rattled off, as though it explained everything.
"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Alex asked, recovering his power of speech (if not his wits). She giggled, and I stuffed my fist in my mouth to stifle laughter. Alex shot me a look that would have blistered paint, making it even harder to stay quiet.
"Who are you two? You look like the people who took out my jailers, but you certainly don't act very tough." Alex glared at me again before answering.
"Alex Lockanvahr, at your service. This rascal is Sora Knorth. Why are you here?" The girl—Tifa, sobered instantly.
"I'm looking for protection." Her voice was clear, but trembled slightly.
"From what?" I asked, my own laughter stilled. I saw her hands shake slightly, but her voice remained strong.
"Trevor. I'm a drop out medical student. Pharmacology. I was the one making opium and the reason for the guards. Without them, I was able to get away, but if he finds me… I can't let him find me." Now her voice did falter, and she began to quiver slightly. Alex and I shared a look.
"Consider yourself under my protection." Alex declared. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and that bastard is certainly my enemy." I settled back on the couch, content. Tifa would be safer than most, under Alex's personal protection. Trust Alex to fall for a girl in under thirty seconds… he was staring at her as though she were some kind of goddess. I felt a twinge of loneliness. I suspected I had looked at Riku just that way, more than once. I got more comfortable on the couch.
"Just like that?" Tifa was asking.
"Just like that." Alex sounded amused. I drifted off to the sound of laughter, lilting soprano and rich baritone. I was lonely, but I would live. I had to.
Riku's PoV
The next morning, I had a really disturbing conversation with Kairi. She said that a friend of hers—she wouldn't say who—had seen Sora and a man that sounded like Alex headed through the burnt sector, covered in what looked like blue paint and blood. That worried me. If Sora was getting mixed up in that business, he was more upset than I had thought. Sora's reaction to most kinds of pain seemed to be hitting something. From what he had told me though, the gangs were dangerous. Nobody had died—yet—but almost everyone involved had spent some time in the hospital, or worse, in the base when real healthcare was too expensive.
The information niggled at me all day, melting the false calm like steady sun on a snowdrift. Sora seemed—different. He was calmer, more focused. But no less angry, no less hurt. Just coping better, keeping it hidden. It made my heart ache to see him, pretending to be fine; when it was clear to me he was just as bad off as I. My false serenity was deeper today, and lasted longer, and the day passed in a swirl of abstract thought I could not afterwards remember.
After school, I began to walk. It wasn't until I arrived at my secret place that I realized where I was going. I dropped my pack near the entrance, and sat cross-legged in the sand before the alter. I had cleaned away the blood yesterday, so I drew out the knife and another stick of jasmine incense and lit it. The calm had not faded completely; enough remained for a little bit of thought, though I could already feel reality returning as a dull ache in my mind, like a broken bone.
I turned up my right wrist into the light, removing the sweatbands I normally wore. The wind made a sound like a choked gasp, and I smiled bitterly at my ability to shock even the elements. The inside of my forearm was covered with scars, some thick, some thin, but the worst still stood out clearly. It ran the course of the vein like some malignant red rope from elbow to wrist, and showed signs of being stitched. The cut had been too deep, and mother had found me passed out behind the garage. We had moved as soon as I was fit to travel. For months I had been too far out of it to care. I had not left any great friends behind. Then something, or someone, had snapped me out of it. A pair of defiant eyes, an electric blue that dared life to do its worst. Watching, separate, aloof. I had forgotten. The memories hurt, like a fistful of razor edged diamonds, too painful to hold, to precious to cast away. I was worried for him. I drew the knife and played with it while I thought, but no solution came to me. If he continued to hurt, he would continue to fight. If he continued to fight, he would get hurt, maybe die. I could not stop it. He could not forgive me; I could not forgive myself.
I took the blade in both hands, and lay the tip lightly over the hollow of my throat. I pressed lightly, drawing a small drop of blood, and the gulls' cries were like a smothered scream. I tried to press harder—one clean thrust, but my hands wouldn't obey me, and began to shake. I forced them closer, and felt the blood trickle down my skin. The knife fell from my fingers, which were shaking too badly to hold it. I stared at it, numbly, the crystal eyes watching me in mocking challenge. My shoulders began to shake with something that could have been laughter or tears. A harsh sound came from my throat, too bitter to really be a laugh as tears tracked down my face. I wasn't even brave enough to die quickly. That thought gave me pause. Did I want to die? Yes. The answer followed as naturally as breathing. Sora hated me; there was very little point in living. I certainly wasn't of any use. Even if I lacked the courage for the throat, I could still take death. I had never flinched from Him before.
I rose, and grabbed a clean cloth from the box, along with a hairbrush and a small vial of sandalwood oil. Wetting the rag from the pool, I wiped the blood and tears from my face and neck, then splashed my face with more of the icy water. I ran the brush through my hair a few times, till it fell neatly to my shoulders, and then brushed in a few drops of the sweetly scented oil. If I was going to die, I was going to look my best. I went back to the makeshift alter, and lit another stick of incense. Not jasmine; that was too sweet for a funeral. This was a scent called Dragon's Blood. One last thing to do. I took the knife, and with the tip, scratched an asymmetrical heart into the wood of the alter. My last cryptic message.
I knelt before the alter, the knife gripped hilt-down between my knees. I took a deep breath—and ran my hands up the knife edge, slashing both wrists nearly to the bone. At first, I felt only the cold of the blade—then fire ran through my veins. It felt as though I wore manacles of red-hot iron. Blackness was creeping at the edges of my vision, and I heard a cry. The voice was familiar, but so distant I couldn't place it… the darkness was rising, up to my chest like cold ocean water. I closed my eyes as it rose to my throat, and then opened them again at the feel of hands on my shoulders. Twin slightly blurred circles of electric blue. Eyes. Sora's eyes. Then the darkness rose like the tide, and I slipped under without even a ripple.
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Ok, sorry I took so long to update. Life's a bitch. (and then you die!) I hope I made up for it with the length, nearly twice as long as normal. This chapter took ages to write, and even longer to type. The reviews—are probably what are keeping me going at this point. This is officially the longest writing project I have ever done, at nearly twenty thousand words without the author's notes. Sorry about the long wait, sorry about the cliffy, the next one should be faster.
Dyslexic Angel